ITW,H - Chapter 114 - Centaurs (2) (Patreon)

Sorry about the late post. I was really struggling with centaur culture and how the village should work. I was also stumped for way too long about what I actually wanted the centaurs to ask for for the longest time.

(Word Count: 3,405)

Centaurs were a strange people. They were an isolated bunch, preferring to stay in the forests far away from contact with the other races. Which was fair. They held a special reverence towards divination and fate. They also took it upon themselves to manage and take care of the forest and its inhabitants, particularly the local population of unicorns.

When Harry was reading up on them, there wasn't much in the way of culture beyond those surface facts. The only other thing the books really said about them was that they were also prideful—often stated in a condescending manner. So prideful, that they refused to be classified as “beings” alongside dark creatures like hags, vampires, and werewolves. They would rather be classified as a beast instead.

That would have been fair, if the Ministry had not classified far more dark creatures as beasts than as beings.

Really, Harry felt like they did that to not be bound by some of the ministry's laws regarding non-human beings. However, that meant they were without the legal rights and protection of “beings”.

 They walked for quite a while into the woods, and Harry was beginning to regret transforming back from his crow form so early. Maybe he should have flown a little bit closer.

Harry eyed Brontes’ horse back. Honestly, Harry was walking at a pretty quick pace, but it looked like the centaur was merely idly meandering along in order to stay at Harry's pace. If he could just get a ride…

Firenze carried the OG Harry in canon!

He put the thought aside with a quiet sigh. Firenze seemed to be the oddball of the centaur community, far more open to humankind than other centaurs. No other centaurs would ever allow anyone to ride on their back.

After about an hour of walking, they finally began to see other centaurs, all male at first, then female centaurs and young centaurs as they entered deeper. Harry was shocked to note that the mares wore no more clothing than the stallions, though he also noted that, instead of bows and quivers, far more of the mares had leather gardener’s belts fitted with an assortment of pouches meant to carry many different things. His best guess was herbs. Their hair was more carefully braided, often threaded with beads of bone, bronze, and pale stones that caught the fading light. One older mare wore a broad silver torque around her throat, engraved with tiny constellations. 

The other centaurs all watched Harry with a mixture of caution, fear, and curiosity as he passed. He gave a slight nod whenever he met their eyes, trying to project a friendly image, but it did nothing to assuage their caution. Probably for the best, if Harry was being honest.

The trees opened up and they stepped into a broad glade with a clear view of the evening sky. The glade was far larger than Harry had expected. It was not a village in the way a human would think of one. There were no cottages or narrow streets. Instead, each home had low rock walls short enough to easily step over—meant only to keep water out—with a large cloth tarp stretched above, to provide shade for the sun and a dry spot when it rains. The “houses” were always in circles, centered around communal firepits.

The centaurs themselves moved through the glade in small groups. Harry saw a dark-coated stallion standing beside three mares and two young foals near one fire, his bow hanging loose in one hand while the mares spoke amongst themselves. He looked around and noted that there were several other similar groups around other campfires.

He also saw one centaur in the middle of getting a tattoo. The tattooist was using a sharp thorn dipped in ink to pierce the skin. The stallion was trying his best to be stoic, but every time the tattooist tapped the thorn he would wince, causing his peers watching to laugh. 

That was also something he had noticed among the centaurs. Many of them had what looked like paint on their faces, chest, and flanks, or some more permanent tattoos with various colors and designs. He had to wonder if it was ceremonial in any way and what it was supposed to signify, if anything at all.

Brontes led him toward the center, where there were several standing stones arranged in a circle. Each of the standing stones were carved with different constellations, and they were arranged in a particular way that reminded Harry of the stone henge. Not the ruins they are today, but how they would have been in their prime. In the center of the standing stones stood several centaurs waiting for them.

Harry recognized two of them immediately.

Bane stood near the front of the group, a dark-coated centaur with hard eyes and a bow hanging off one of his shoulders, ready to be equipped at a moment's notice. He wore a strip of charcoal paint across his eyes, and a narrow line of red ran down the centre of his bare chest. It made him look like a warrior about to ride into battle. Bane was glaring at Harry, as if he was just waiting for a reason to kick him out of the village.

Beside him stood Firenze, the centaur that was the most prominent in canon.

Firenze’s coat was pale and dappled beneath the moonlight, and unlike Bane, he did not look at Harry with immediate dislike. His gaze was thoughtful, though it kept drifting upward toward the open sky. Pale lines of paint crossed his shoulders and arms, joining tiny dots in patterns that looked like constellations. These lines of paint were definitely not in the books, so he probably had them painted on for this meeting for some reason. Was this some formal, or significant meeting that required getting painted up?

Harry wanted to ask, but refrained due to the solemn atmosphere.

The final centaur was older than the others. His horse body was chestnut, though his hair had gone silver at the temples. He wore a broad torque of dark bronze around his neck, and his arms were marked with old scars and faded tattoos. A winding black line curved from his shoulder down along his side before vanishing beneath his coat.

Brontes lowered his head slightly.

“Magorian,” he said. “The human, Harry Potter, has brought generous gifts.” He showed the casserole dish in his hands. “This single dish will be able to feed the entire herd tonight should everyone want to partake.” He adjusted the casserole into one hand and took out the dittany and the sneakoscope from his satchel.

Magorian raised his eyebrows, pleased. “Those are quite the gifts, Mr. Potter, and they are well received. Asteria!” Magorian called out, and another older centaur approached.

She looked to be as old as Magorian. Her lower half was the body of a silver dapple bay horse, with her flanks spotted in silver. She had a soft gentle face, and a long braid that was threaded with small beads of polished rowan wood, bone, and pale moonstone. She wore a broad leather gardener’s belt around her waist fitted with pouches of dried herbs, bandages, small glass vials, and a curved knife meant for harvesting plants rather than fighting. Harry guessed she was likely some senior healer.

“Yes, Magorian?” Asteria asked.

“Here. This guest has brought us a bottle of dittany as a gift,” Magorian handed over the bottle to her. She eagerly took the bottle and tucked it into one of the pouches, and she smiled warmly towards Harry.

“Thank you, young man. I’ll be sure it’s put to good use,” Asteria said kindly.

“He also brought some food that refills itself,” Magorian added, gesturing to the casserole still in Brontes’ hands. “Could you make sure it’s passed around to the hearths?”

“Of course, beloved,” She gently touched Magorian’s arm, before taking the casserole from Brontes and left towards the nearest fire. 

Brontes cleared his throat, “He also claims to have cleared the acromantula nest. I’ve sent Caradoc, Aldaran, and Orestes to verify. They should return soon.”

Firenze looked like he had an epiphany, and looked to Harry. “So that was what happened last night.”

Harry frowned. “You didn’t see it?”

“The stars did not speak clearly,” Firenze said, his gaze lifting toward the darkening sky. “But they told us some burden would be lifted last night, along with much death. I must admit, I couldn’t see what that meant. I am relieved the deaths we saw were the deaths of such dark creatures instead of what we feared.”

Harry looked up as well. He saw the constellations from Astronomy and noted the positions of the planets. Mars burned red near the waxing moon, while Saturn hung farther beyond it, cold and pale. Together these could signify war, bloodshed, possibly old evils returning, and a danger that would reach its height beneath the full moon. Jupiter shone between them, signifying protection, growth, or a powerful ally/defender. In the canon timeline, Harry knew the stars would have promised the return of Voldemort and the suffering that followed. Now, with so much already changed, he had no idea whether Jupiter represented Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, or perhaps himself.

This was why he preferred his visions. They weren’t as vague.

As they talked, more centaurs from around the glade seemed to realize their leaders were speaking to a human and came over to listen in.

“It remains to be seen if the human is truthful, Firenze. You trust his words too easily,” Bane couldn't hold back his words any longer and criticized the other centaur, giving Harry a distrustful glare. Some of the surrounding centaurs, notably most of them were the stallions wielding bows sporting similar paints as Bane. Some of his men perhaps? Were they perhaps the warriors of the centaur herd?

“I trust in the stars, Bane. Mr. Potter’s story would explain much of what we saw,” Firenze said patiently.

Before anyone could say anything else, the thundering of hooves came from the direction of the forest. The three scouts Brontes had sent to inspect the acromantula nest galloped into the glade, slowing only once they had reached the gathered elders.

“Magorian,” the first scout said, breathing heavily. “Brontes. We have returned from the spider nest.”

Magorian lifted one hand. “Brontes has already told us why you were sent. Tell us what you found.”

The scout glanced toward Harry, then back to Magorian. “The human’s claim is true. The nest is destroyed. We found the bodies of hundreds of acromantulas throughout the old hollow and the surrounding woods. Aragog himself lies dead in the center of the nest.”

A murmur passed through the centaurs gathered around the standing stones.

“We could not determine how they died. The webbing remains mostly intact,” another scout added. “There was no fire, no poisoned water, and no damage to the surrounding trees beyond what the spiders had already done. However, we found several stone golems at work among the bodies.”

“I made those golems,” Harry clarified. “They are dismantling the spiders and gathering the useful materials. Mainly, the venom and silk, but also chitin, eyes, and anything else I might be able to use for potions, enchantments, or alchemy.”

Bane’s eyes narrowed at him. “You mean to take all of it?”

“I did kill all of them, so yes,” Harry said evenly, meeting the centaurs' gaze.

“The acromantulas have hunted our herd for decades,” Bane said. “They have taken foals, driven unicorns from their paths, and killed creatures that belonged to this forest long before you were born. Their silk is not yours alone to claim.”

Harry felt a flare of irritation, but he kept his face calm. He had killed the spiders, spent the night hunting down every runner he could find, and nearly exhausted himself sustaining four basilisks to do it. Still, Bane was not entirely wrong. The centaurs had suffered because of the nest for far longer than Harry had even known it existed.

Before Harry could answer, Firenze spoke.

“The spiders were Harry Potter’s kill,” he said. “He had no obligation to enter the nest. He took the danger upon himself, and he did us all a great favor in killing them.”

Bane looked at Firenze in disbelief. “You would have us stand aside while a human strips our forest of what remains?”

“The forest in that region is dead and offered us nothing. It is only because of Potter’s actions that the forest will be able to regrow, and eventually provide its bounty to us,” Firenze replied. “Does he not deserve the bounty he gains for such a gift?”

Magorian looked between them, thoughtful. “The silk belongs to Harry Potter. The herd will not take it from him.”

Bane’s jaw tightened, though he did not openly challenge Magorian.

“However,” Magorian continued, turning toward Harry, “the herd has need of the silk. We have processed acromantula webbing for nearly 50 years. Our healers make bandages and sling-wraps from it, and our wardens use it for bowstrings. It is strong, light, and takes enchantments well. We would offer to process the silk for you,” Magorian said. “Your golems may gather it, but I imagine you do not yet have the people needed to process that amount of raw webbing into usable silk. We will be able to process them far more efficiently than any human craftsmen, I can assure you of that.”

Harry had to admit that was a fair point. He had planned to deal with the webbing later, perhaps by hiring a professional weavers using Arcturus’ connections. However, he knew of no silk farm that would be able to handle the sheer amount of volume he would end up with. He would have had to split it among many silk farms, which would have been a real headache coordinating that. 

Letting the centaurs process it would save him a massive amount of time and likely leave him with a far better final product.

“And what would the herd ask in return?” Harry asked.

“One quarter of what is processed,” Magorian said. “The remaining three quarters would be returned to you, cleaned, spun, and sorted by quality.”

Harry considered the offer.

Twenty-five percent was not an unfair price for skilled labor, especially considering how much raw webbing there was. He would have enough silk to make cloaks, robes, glove linings, and anything else he could think of for himself and all of his friends and family for the rest of his life without ever running out. 

Still, he thought of the centaurs’ years of losses to the acromantulas, their wounded foals, and the fact that they were offering a genuine trade rather than demanding tribute.

“Agreed,” Harry said. “Though I want you to keep thirty percent instead.”

The centaurs all frowned, even Firenze.

“We do not need you to offer charity, Potter,” Magorian said a bit tersely.

Harry quickly clarified. “The extra 5% is because I wasn't able to kill all of the acromantulas. The remaining spiders are all the young spiders that could easily hide from me. I cannot search through the entire forest for them. I've already enlisted the crows' help, but I'd like to ask for your herd's assistance in this matter as well. With the centaurs hunting the remaining spiders, I know I can rest easy they won't escape.”

Magorian studied him for a long moment and the anger faded away and he inclined his head. “The herd accepts your trade.”

Firenze’s gaze shifted briefly toward Harry, and there was something warmer in it now. Bane still looked wary, but some of the immediate hostility had faded from his expression.

“Now,” Magorian said, “I do not believe the spiders were the only reason for your visit. What other matter brought you to us?”

“When Magic spoke to me, she gave me two quests,” Harry said. “The first was to clear the acromantula nest, because their numbers had grown too large and were harming the rest of the forest. The second was to come here, make peace with your people, and offer aid.”

“And what aid does a twelve-year-old human believe he can offer the herd?” Bane asked mockingly.

Harry looked at him. “Did I not just slay an entire acromantula nest?.”

Bane's sneer dropped. “Ah, well…” He had jumped in against Harry out of habit to deny help from a human.

Firenze chuckled. “He seems to be quite capable, Bane. Perhaps he really could help us.”

For a few moments, no one spoke. The nearest fire crackled, and somewhere farther into the glade, a young centaur laughed before being hushed by an older voice.

Magorian’s expression darkened.

“There is a problem in the forest,” he said.

Harry’s attention sharpened. “What sort of problem?” He thought back to the second year book, but there was nothing about the Centaurs facing trouble. Though perhaps there was something, but, of course, they wouldn't go to the 12 year old OG Harry to fix their problem?

“The werewolves of this forest have become too numerous,” Magorian said.

The mood in the glade shifted at once. Several mares pulled their foals closer, and the younger centaurs near the fires went quiet.

“There have always been werewolves in the Forbidden Forest,” Magorian continued. “They hunt in the northern reaches and generally leave the herd alone. We leave them alone in return, so long as they remain far from our foals and the unicorn paths.”

“But their numbers have increased,” Brontes said.

“There were once perhaps six or seven who used the forest as their territory. Now there are more than thirty,” Bane added. “My wardens can fend off a few werewolves that occasionally wander too close, but at twenty there will be no guarantee our foals will be safe.”

Thirty werewolves was not a small pack. It was a serious threat, especially with a full moon only a week away.

“Why have so many gathered here?” Harry asked.

Firenze looked toward him. “They have been speaking of one of their own who works among humans.”

Now Harry realized what had happened. The butterfly was flapping its wings. Remus’s work was drawing in werewolves from around the country, and possibly beyond. However, they had nowhere to go, so they ended up in the forbidden forest.

Harry grimaced. Remus hired as much as he could, but there was only so much he could do. They couldn’t exactly house everyone that came, regardless. Doing so would only bankrupt themselves and they wouldn’t be able to continue the wolfsbane project which was far more important. That left groups like these werewolves who had nowhere else to go find themselves here, which was now causing problems for the centaurs.

Perhaps he should speak to Remus and Sirius and see about setting up a safe place for them to transform on the full moons, even without the wolfsbane potion.

Harry looked back toward Magorian. “What do you want me to do?”

“The full moon rises in seven days,” Magorian said. “If the pack remains in the forest, we will have no choice but to drive them away, through bloodshed if we must, before the full moon. We will not have so many werewolves in our territory. Go to them and convince them to leave the herd’s territory before the full moon. If you fail, we will handle them ourselves.”

A blue screen appeared in front of Harry.

[Magic Quest: Centaurs

The centaurs of the Forbidden Forest have long watched the stars and guarded the balance of magic within their home. Acromantulas encroach, wars approach, and the skies grow troubled. Meet with them, make peace, and offer aid.

Objective Updated: The werewolves of the Forbidden Forest have grown too numerous. Before the full moon, speak to them and find a safe place for them to transform for the full moon.

Reward: +1 Divination, Perk: Friend of the Forest]

Harry kept his expression neutral as he read the update.

Magic had known this was what the centaurs needed, she had simply refused to tell him beforehand, likely because he first needed to earn enough of their trust for them to actually accept his help.

“I will do it,” Harry said. “I know why these people came, and what they hope to find. I will go speak to them and see if I can help them.”